


Demon and the Angel

by DaniJayNel



Series: 100 YumiKuri Stories [95]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, F/F, Oneshot, day 01, prompt 02, sci fi vs fantasy, yumikuri, yuri fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6555019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historia leads her army, but wants no part of the war. She leaves, and finds a fallen angel on her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon and the Angel

Historia fronted the huge demon army as they swept through the darkening clouds. She knew in the distance waited an equally impressive army of angels, who were to fight head on with her people. But she hated it. Growls and flapping wings filled her ears from all sides, fuelling Historia’s desire to simply turn around and head straight back to hell.

This war had been prophesized by the humans for years, and every demon had been waiting for the day the trumpets would blast. Finally they had, but Historia was not as eager.

She waited patiently, yelling encouraging remarks over her shoulder. The other demons all shouted back, joyous and adrenaline fuelled for the fight ahead. Historia would have rolled her eyes, but the demons were a swarming mass around her, pulsing and vibrating so violently that going a mere centimetre out of course would have her crashing into one of them and hurtling towards the ground. Historia would rather prefer to avoid such a bout of pain.

They danced ever closer, white wings slashing gracefully through the air. Unlike the popular belief, demons weren’t leather-winged, red-skinned beasts. They did have horns, yes—a curse—and fangs. The angels weren’t any prettier themselves. Ahead of them the horizon broke to showcase an enormous mass of black wings, flapping as excitedly as the demons’.

As soon as the two armies collided, Historia veered off to the side, and then halted her wings entirely to dive downwards, underneath the bloody battle above her. To her sides others fell as well, either dead or simply beaten, hurtling towards certain doom. Historia didn’t follow them all the way, and made her way over to a nearby island—they couldn’t very well flock above a populated city. If they did, the humans would have them neutralized so quickly that a war wouldn’t even have taken place.

Historia miscalculated and crashed in the shallow water, soggy sand filtering through her toes. The little bit of clothing she wore almost washed away completely, but she held onto the fabric and wadded over to the shore. It was at least warm, she mused. If she strained her ears just a little, she could hear the war cries from above. Historia paid it no mind. She held no grudge towards the angels, and actually liked her horns.

She collapsed on a dry hill of sand, panting for breath and sweating. The trip here had been long and arduous, causing her wings to completely retreat into her back thanks to her exhaustion. She was grateful for the reprieve—the one evolutionary genius was their ability to grow and withdraw their wings at will. Historia sent a silent thanks up to God. There was a responding chuckle at the back of her mind.

When simply laying in the hot sand became boring, Historia decided to trudge through the small forest and see if there was any edible fruit. She would remain on the island until whichever side won. If it was the angels and they reclaimed hell, then she’d stay with the humans and pretend for the rest of eternity. If her kind won, she’d simply return with the floods of wounded. For now, there was time to kill.

It was rocky on the ground at first, making Historia winced every time something especially sharp poked the bottom of her feet, but then she padded onto soft, moist soil and the trees above thickened, casting a gorgeous green hue over the ground. She took her time, stroking the hard bark of the trees, enjoying the chirps and squawks of the island’s native creatures. Up ahead she eventually found a stream with clear, fresh water. Historia drank a handful, then paused when a strange sound filled her ears—a groan.

She turned, expecting to see either a carnivorous animal or an enemy, but found that her direct vicinity was empty. But that groan sounded again, and Historia followed it to the opposite side of the stream, underneath thicker trees. There, collapsed in a berry tree, Historia spotted an angel. She stopped immediately, eyes narrowing. She stopped breathing as well, but it was already too late. The angel’s scent washed over her, called for her. _Help me,_ it said to her. _Come over to me. Touch me._ She knew the angel had yet to realize her presence and wasn’t consciously calling to her—it was simply an instinct.

After all, angels and demons were still the same species, born with the same DNA, the same instincts. No demon or angel had ever affected Historia so strongly, so she abandoned her reservations and crouched by the angel’s side.

She was frighteningly beautiful. Dark, bronzed skin was spotted with freckles and smears of dirt and blood. Large, calloused hands led up to well formed, muscled biceps and shoulders. Historia traced every line and curve with her eyes, up to the angel’s face, which was all chiselled angles and full lips. Another smattering of freckles marred the angel’s face, bleeding over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. To conclude the show, the angel had shortly cropped brown hair, clean and soft to the eye. Historia had to suck in a large, heavy breath. When the air whizzed past her lips, the angel’s eyes opened in alarm.

For but a second Historia got a good look—dark brown irises, speckled with gold and green, surrounding pupils blown wide open. The angel’s attractive mouth pressed tight, and then hands wound around Historia’s throat and she was on her back, unable to blink or move. Black feathered wings draped over them, but they were dripping blood. A single drop of sweat slid down the angel’s scraped cheek, plopping against Historia’s chest—she managed to note that her clothes were still damp, and her hard nipples peeked out quite obviously from the fabric. She was disappointed that the angel hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Who are you?” she growled. And oh, her voice was husky and molten, flowing over Historia in the most sensual way. Historia allowed a shudder to pass through her, but did not submit to the Adonis above her.

“Historia Reiss,” she answered softly. At the touch of her voice, the angel recoiled, scrambling off of her immediately. It appeared the waves of attraction weren’t Historia’s alone.

“Demon,” she growled lowly, air hissing between her teeth.

“My name is Historia, not ‘demon’.”

The angel narrowed her eyes, but her muscles relaxed in the slightest. “Ymir,” she said by way of introduction. “Why aren’t you attacking me?”

Historia turned her gaze towards the sky. The sunlight was quickly fading away to dark, grey clouds. In no time, Historia knew, her freedom would end.

“Because I don’t like fighting.”

Ymir wavered. She could clearly tell that Historia wasn’t lying. But she kept her wings flexed, even as they bled, as if Historia would change her mind suddenly and dive in attack.

“You’re bleeding,” Historia pointed out, finally getting back onto her feet.

Ymir finally seemed to notice it herself. She gently touched her own wing, fingertips coming back dipped in red. “Guess I am,” she muttered.

Historia rolled her eyes. She stepped forward and placed her palm against the most severe wound. Ymir hissed, but didn’t pull away. Before long Historia had the wound healed up, and when she stepped back Ymir was eyeing her with great suspicion.

“Why are you helping me?”

Historia shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because we’re enemies.” She lifted her hand, gesturing to Historia’s horns, the only difference besides the wings between the two species.

“I don’t want to be enemies.”

Ymir squinted further. “Historia...” she whispered to herself, thinking. Eventually her eyes widened. “Holy shit, you’re _the_ Reiss, aren’t you?”

Historia groaned. “Look, I came to this lovely island to avoid the fight. Please excuse me, since I have more trees to look at.” She turned and started heading into the trees.

“Wait!” Ymir called. “I, um... I bailed, too.”

“That’s okay.”

“But you’re like, commander of the demon armies, aren’t you?”

“They can fight without me.”

Ymir snorted, but she smiled. There was no threat between them. No urge to fight, despite how their blood called for each other. Some angels and demons repelled each other, while some attracted. Had they been of the same kind, Historia knew Ymir would have been her destined long before they were born. She chewed her bottom lip.

“Would you like to walk with me? At least until someone wins this dumb war.” She held her hand out, worrying her bottom lip.

Ymir looked down at it, frowning, brows furrowed. Finally, she took it. “Guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Historia grinned, pleased with her new friend. The day wasn’t going as badly as she had thought—a beautiful view, cool weather and now a gorgeous companion. She continued to smile as they trekked through the bushes.

Out of the blue, Ymir released a snort, chucking.

“What?” Historia asked.

“Just can’t believe the demon army is led by you, a tiny demon. And that you ditched everyone. Man, God is going to laugh his ass off and Lucifer might set you on fire.”

Historia shrugged. “Lucy knows better than to punish me. And don’t forget that there’s still time for me to attack you. Don’t tempt me.”

Laughing louder, Ymir gave her head a pat. “Whatever you say, little commander.”

Despite all her demon powers, Historia resorted to native methods of offense. With a short inhale, she pulled her head back, and then smacked her forehead against Ymir’s.

Despite all Ymir’s angel powers, she still crumbled to the floor, shouting in pain.

Yeah, the day hadn’t turned out too bad, Historia thought. She smiled wider when Ymir’s eyes flashed at her, dangerous and swirling.

Oh, definitely.


End file.
